What it really takes to raise a teen well
As the police arrived, I was equal parts relieved and afraid.
Afraid of how the little boy next to me might respond.
Afraid of what might happen for him next.
Five mins into my walk with a friend on Sunday morning, a couple passing asked if we'd lost a child and said there was a little boy ahead who was alone.
They walked on to see if they could find anyone looking for a child.
We walked ahead to find him.
He was wearing a blue dinosaur onesie.
Dummy in mouth.
Bare feet. Standing between the road and the beach shower.
On his own. No older than 2 years old.
When no parents came, others stopped to wait with us. We tried asking him questions but couldn't understand his incompletely formed toddler words.
Still no parents. We called police.
The little boy, meanwhile, was perfectly happy. Not bothered at all he was lost.
When police arrived, he was fine but starting to get bored. "Mumma po," he said, took my hand, and pointed, leading us not to his mum, but to the playground for a swing.
Soon after I left him with police, we heard his parents had contacted emergency services and were being reunited with their boy.
I didn't get to meet the parents or know the full story of why this boy was on his own.
But I wish I could let the mum know her boy was safe the whole time, that a bunch of us were there for the places she couldn't see.
And remarkably, none of the people who stopped to help judged the parents. They just wanted the best for this little boy.
We throw around the idea that "it takes a village to raise a child."
Although rarely do we see this play out in the way it did on Sunday, where the "village" really did protect a child and support a family.
But unlike your struggles with your teenager, a toddler wandering onto a footpath is visible. Strangers can see him, stop for him, stand with him until he's safe.
Your teenager's world is harder to see into; a phone screen, a group chat, a vape, a worry, a sadness.
AND that's not only what makes parenting teens harder.
It's that when something does go wrong, there's rarely a stranger who stops, stands with you, and says: I don't know your story, but I'm not going anywhere.
Instead there's often an audience. Quietly deciding what kind of parent let that happen.
That's the real difference between the toddler on the beach and the teen at home.
Not the danger.
The judgment.
I wish the mum of that little boy could know what I know: not one person who stopped to help her son judged her for a second.
And I wish every parent of a teenager could feel that same thing.
Not because nothing ever goes wrong, or you're a perfect parent, but when these things happen someone is standing with you anyway.
That's what I've worked hard to build.
Not a community that watches and judges parents when things go wrong. One that shows up, stays, and supports.
This blog is to remind you that no matter what has happened in your house this past weekend, there is someone in the world who cares and knows.
AND you don't have to do it alone.
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